In August 2017, my wife and I and two close friends drove from Minnesota to east-central Nebraska to have our minds blown.
In the middle of a campground’s prairie trail, just over a ridge from the Platte River and several miles from the railroad town of Grand Island, we settled in as a total solar eclipse approached.
A 19th-century account of the eclipse experience by Mabel Loomis Todd comes close to describing what felt, to us, too powerful for typical words: “A vast palpable presence seems to overwhelm the world.”
I, too, was overwhelmed with awe in the unusual twilight that filled the space around us in that Nebraska field. Day didn’t so much become night as it became something profoundly different. The stillness was tangible as the moon moved directly between Earth and the sun. Bolted to the ground in amazement, we gazed at a glowing “corona,” the outer atmosphere of the eclipsed sun. It can’t be viewed with the naked eye — ever — except in those few minutes of totality.
I’ll pursue that experience again on April 8, when our same group of four travels about 600 miles to southern Missouri. We’ll be in the path of totality, near Eminence, a town in the hills that is part of the Ozark National Scenic Riverways. The eclipse will start building at 12:38 p.m. in Missouri, with totality lasting two minutes, 41 seconds, just before 2 p.m.
While a partial eclipse will be visible throughout the lower 48 states (weather-permitting), the total eclipse will be viewable in a band thousands of miles long — dubbed the path of totality — including 13 states from Texas to Maine. More than 30 million people live in the path, which includes several major cities. The closer to the middle of the band, the longer the eclipse. From the Twin Cities, almost three-quarters of the sun will be hidden by the moon.
Chasing totality takes a fuller chapter in the life of one Minnesota woman and her family. Patti Isaacs of Stillwater wrote colorfully of a 2017 trip involving her, her husband Gauss, who was battling pancreatic cancer, and their two adult sons and grandchildren. What began on the previous evening in Lincoln, Neb., ended 400 miles west in a field in Scottsbluff, near the Colorado line. Turns out they needed to chase clear skies, too.
On April 8, Isaacs will attempt to witness her fifth solar eclipse, and no doubt she’ll have Gauss in her heart. He died nine months after their 2017 trip. This time, she said, she plans to travel to Austin, Texas, and said several friends “are finally interested enough to try to see it and have approached me asking for advice.”